How to Tempt a Duke

by Madeline Martin

  The low lamplight gleamed off his dark hair and shadowed his sharp jaw. His skin appeared golden beside the porcelain fairness of Lottie’s, as if he’d spent much time in the sun. The brilliant blue of his eyes practically glowed against his gilded skin.

  He was, by anyone’s estimation, an extraordinarily handsome man.

  Eleanor stiffened. “I was not told that a man would take part in my lessons.”

  Lottie smiled easily. “Darling, how would you learn to properly converse with a man if you hadn’t anyone to practice on? Your mother knew it was a possibility and she trusts me.” She regarded the man. “And I trust him.”

  He returned Eleanor’s curious stare with a nonchalance so casual she felt foolish for voicing her fears.

  “What is his name?” She spoke with equal indifference, as though she was entirely unfeeling. Except that she wasn’t. Her insides trembled like set jelly and her bones ached from the rigidity of her muscles. “We haven’t been introduced.”

  “I will allow my introduction when you permit yours.”

  The man’s voice was deep and smooth. Eleanor lifted her chin a notch, uncertain if his response was meant in flirtation or insolence. Regardless, she wouldn’t deign to reply. She had not come here to be mocked.

  “This is a prime example of why I’ve employed his assistance.”

  Lottie threaded her hand through the crook of the man’s elbow and drew him closer. He appeared to hesitate before Lottie gave him a firm tug.

  “One can never anticipate what another will say.” She gazed up at him pointedly. “He’ll add a level of spontaneity to our lessons. And, I assure you, flirting with me for practice will be nowhere near as exciting as with him.”

  “Ladies don’t flirt.”

  Eleanor’s gaze flicked to the man as he was led closer. He was tall, his chest broad and his waist and hips narrow where his breeches encased his strong thighs. Heat touched Eleanor’s cheeks, and something deep inside bade her to stand and raise herself to her full height, to meet whatever challenge his presence had thrown at her feet.

  “Oh, but they do,” Lottie said in a softly chiding tone. “It’s slight, mind you. A subtle play of words slipping between two people as if it were a language only they knew.”

  Lottie was right, of course. Both about flirtation and about the subtlety of it, like a carefully memorized dance. Eleanor had done it with Hugh. Twice. Both times had been immediately followed by a rush of heady excitement.

  And wasn’t she the fool for having permitted herself to be so audacious?

  Her heart flinched, the way it always did when she considered those rare quiet moments with Hugh. Lord Ledsey.

  “This will proceed more smoothly if you are honest with yourself and with me.” Lottie kept her voice kind, taking the edge from the words. “There are things ladies are not supposed to do and yet still actually do—with finesse, mind you. I think we can both agree that flirtation falls within that category.”

  Eleanor’s palms were sweating within the confines of her gloves. She wanted to run from the room, rip them from her hands and let the cold air wash over her hot skin. But she had been raised to be stronger than that.

  “I’m amenable to that consideration.”

  “Excellent.” Lottie’s easy smile returned.

  But it wasn’t excellent. Not at all. The room was too dark, the walls too close, the expectation placed on Eleanor far too great. However, for all she did not wish to be at Lottie’s town house, receiving this instruction, she was, at her core, a Murray—and Murrays did not show fear. Even when they tasted the metal of it in their mouths and were subjected to the tingling of it up their spines.

  She would do this, attract a suitable husband, and then she would pretend as though it had never happened. She peeked at the man once more—a curious thing her eyes kept doing. Did he have to be so very handsome? And did he have to stare at her so unabashedly?

  “The sherry is for you,” Lottie pointed out. “If you’d like it for your nerves.”

  While tempted, Eleanor feared reaching for the glass might result in her brushing one of those marbled breasts gleaming in the lamplight. No, she would hold firm to her original resolve.

  “Thank you, I’m fine.”

  Lottie clasped her naked hands together. “In that case, let us begin.”

  Chapter Three

  Charles found the Westix chit prettier than he’d expected. Her hair was the same brilliant red as her father’s, her eyes pale. Though whether they were green or blue or some color in between was imperceptible in the muted light. She was fair, her skin a lovely porcelain-white, and her back was so straight that looking at such rigidity made his shoulders ache.

  It was evident she was attempting to appear brave, but he knew that all Murrays at their core were cowards. No matter how this woman tried to play it, she was exactly the same as her father.

  “Let us start with introductions.”

  Lottie released Charles’s arm and beckoned him. He stepped closer, the obedient dog in this ridiculous dance.

  The delicate muscles of Lady Eleanor’s neck stood out and a heavy awkwardness settled over the room.

  “If he frightens you, I can send him away.” Lottie spoke in the same careful tone she’d used with the parishioners a lifetime ago.

  Dear God, he wished Lady Eleanor would confess her fear and he could leave. He ground his teeth. Except there were the journals, of course—the reason he’d agreed to this damned fool of a scheme. He needed her to like him.

  Lady Eleanor stood abruptly, reaching the impressive height of Charles’s chin. She tilted her face upward and peered boldly up at him. Green. Her eyes were green. And wide and attentive with a feline intensity.

  “I am not so easily discouraged.”

  Conviction laced her words, but the gentle flaring of her nostrils told a different tale. She was indeed scared. In truth, how could she not be put off by such a bizarre scenario as the one they all found themselves thrown into? At least the girl had sense.

  She stood close enough that the tip of one satin slipper touched the shiny toe of his boot, and her soft breath whispered over his chin with every exhalation. The sweet scent of jasmine floated around him. It was delicate and feminine, and seemed almost too gentle for the woman in front of him.

  In truth, they were improperly close—as if the scene was not already indecent enough, with a lady of her breeding meeting a woman of Lottie’s—

  He couldn’t finish the thought.

  Yes, Lottie was a courtesan, but he could not consider her as such. Not when to him she’d always been just sweet and gentle Lottie. A woman now forced to bow and scrape to this spoiled brat.

  “You needn’t be alarmed.” Lottie carefully drew Lady Eleanor back to a more respectful distance. “We do not intend you harm or ruination. We want to help—which is why I agreed to work with you. And...” Lottie indicated Charles. “It is why Lord Charles is here as well.”

  If Lady Eleanor hadn’t been watching him so intently he would have given Lottie a curious look. She doubtless had her reasons for lying about his real title, and if her intention had been to set Lady Eleanor at ease, her effort proved successful. Lady Eleanor’s shoulders lowered a notch and she nodded to Lottie.

  “I should like to present Lady Eleanor,” Lottie said grandly.

  “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Lady Eleanor’s cool tone diffused the warmth of the greeting. Indeed, she appeared anything but pleased.

  “I’d like to believe you mean that,” Charles said, before he could stop himself.

  Lottie shot him a hard look. Lady Eleanor met his gaze, brazen and without charm. “Perhaps that’s why my mother has risked our reputations for my tutelage.”

  “He doesn’t know the details of why you’re here,” Lottie said. “I should have explained it, but I—” />
  Lady Eleanor put up a hand to stop her.

  “You must not have been long in London if you haven’t yet read of the infamous Ice Queen.” Lady Eleanor’s brow quirked on an otherwise expressionless face. “A woman on the edge of spinsterhood, who lost her one chance at a proposal of marriage by the very coolness of her demeanor.” Her eyes glinted like hard emeralds. “My mother has sent me here as she believes having Lottie teach me to flirt and project myself as being more genuine will dispel the rumors of my unaffected disposition.”

  “And what do you think?” Charles asked, his curiosity slightly piqued.

  “I’m skeptical.” Her reply came without hesitation.

  Behind her, Lottie pursed her lips.

  “Skeptical that you can be taught?” he prompted.

  Lady Eleanor gave a tight smirk. “That it will have much impact. I must overcome preconceived notions sufficiently to entice a man to seek my hand in marriage. All in...” Her head tilted in apparent mental calculation. “All in the better part of two months.”

  Time was most certainly not in her favor. The woman was practical in her assessment.

  “Does it matter who is on the other side of that proposal?” Charles studied her as he spoke, to see if she even bothered to flush at his statement. She did not.

  “Women do not have the luxury of time and choice, as men do.”

  It was a simple reply, but it was the truth. Charles knew he had his own ducal obligations to tend to, but he did have time. Even if it took several years he could find the ruby, return to London and still acquire a wife within weeks of his arrival. Days, if necessary.

  “Then we ought to get to work, oughtn’t we?” Lottie stepped closer between them. “First, I’d like to observe how you comport yourself when introduced. Properly.”

  She regarded the Westix brat.

  “Lady Eleanor, think of making eye contact and trying to look sincerely happy to meet Lord Charles.”

  Lady Eleanor shifted her weight from one foot to the other in reply. Clearly she was anything but happy to meet him. The feeling was mutual.

  Lottie ignored the subtle display of sullen defiance. “Lady Eleanor, may I introduce Lord Charles?”

  Lady Eleanor’s gaze met his and raked into his soul. There was something in the way she gazed into his eyes, unapologetic and resolute. Not at all like the demure ladies of the ton he’d grown used to when he’d last lived in London. No wonder she put people off.

  Lady Eleanor extended her hand, which Charles accepted and bowed over, kissing the air just above the knuckles of her white kidskin gloves.

  When he straightened, she offered a stiff nod and said, “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Her speech and manners were immaculate. Everything was as expected in polite society, except perhaps her bold stare.

  Lottie nodded to herself. “Good. Proper.” She put her finger to her lower lip. “But without feeling.”

  “I assumed feelings were not necessary with strangers,” Lady Eleanor countered.

  “They are when you want to encourage strangers toward matrimony.” Lottie indicated Charles. “Let your eyes linger on his, but try not to be too direct, and give a smile when you say it’s a pleasure to meet him. Convince him. He should believe everything you say.” Lottie swirled her finger in the air and said, in perfectly accented French, “Allez, on recommence.”

  Charles bit back a groan. They might very well be there until morning.

  “We’ll be doing this all night, I presume?” Lady Eleanor’s tone was not enthusiastic. “Being introduced ad nauseam until one of us finally pleads for mercy?”

  “It will be me,” Charles volunteered with a wink. If he was going to win her over and get those journals, a sense of camaraderie might go a long way.

  She shot him a bland look in response, before turning her gaze to Lottie. “This is entirely ridiculous. I won’t meet the same man over and over. It will not improve the poor image that most of the ton has of me, and nor will it change their minds. Call for my carriage.” She closed her eyes, as if the act pained her. When she opened her eyes once more, her composure was fully restored. “Please.”

  “May I ask if there is something keeping you from this?” Lottie inquired. “Something you are afraid of?”

  “I am afraid of nothing,” Lady Eleanor stated firmly.

  Lottie’s brow pinched and she opened her mouth. But rather than offer a protest, she nodded and slipped from the room in a whisper of costly silk. A blanket of uncomfortable silence fell over the room and smothered any sense of companionship.

  “You said you were skeptical.” Charles lifted the glass of untouched sherry and drained it, needing the drink far more than she. Its sweetness followed the burn of alcohol and clung cloyingly on his tongue. “Perhaps you meant pessimistic?”

  She eyed him warily and backed away, clearly aware of the inappropriateness of their being alone together. “Because I’m not playing along with this preposterous charade?” she asked.

  “Because you’re too afraid to even give it a chance.” He didn’t know if he was attempting to aid Lottie with this goading, or if he was doing it out of malice. Perhaps a bit of both.

  Her gloved hands fingered the fabric of her skirt. “This is...abnormal.”

  While he agreed, he was not about to confess as much. He was, after all, there to aid Lottie. And if the chit left now he wouldn’t have the opportunity to get the journals.

  “I’ve learned that being unconventional often delivers stronger results than what is common,” he said. “You came here because you want to prove everyone wrong. Why are you letting them be proved correct?”

  The muscles along her slender throat tensed. “I came here because I have no choice.”

  Lottie entered the room with a man trailing behind her. “Your carriage is here. Ferdinand will see you out.”

  Lady Eleanor turned her attention from Charles and allowed the footman to help her don an absurd blonde wig, as well as a mask and black domino.

  Lottie did not move from her path. “I do hope you’ll reconsider.”

  Lady Eleanor gave Lottie a slow nod. Without another word, the Earl of Westix’s daughter followed Ferdinand from the room.

  Lottie’s composure drained away and she sank onto the settee. “Well, that was an utter failure.”

  Charles watched the empty hallway where Lady Eleanor had disappeared. “I confess I fail to feel sympathy toward her—especially when she doesn’t appear to find any fault with her current demeanor.”

  Lottie peeked at him through a curtain of dark hair. “You weren’t exactly welcoming. What happened to the charming Charles I once knew?”

  Her words made Charles wince. He hadn’t meant his prejudice against Lady Eleanor to be so obvious. “Apparently we’ve all changed.”

  Lottie pressed her lips together rather than give him the cutting reply he deserved. “Will you try to speak with her?” She gazed up at him, her expression imploring. “I cannot, but surely you can. I know she walks in Hyde Park with her mother often.”

  It was on the tip of Charles’s tongue to decline—to end this foolish charade. But once more the thought of the journals swam into his mind. Damn it. Not just the journals, but finding a way to assist Lottie.

  He hated seeing her like this, catering to the rich with every part of herself. She didn’t deserve this life.

  “I’ll consider it,” he offered grudgingly.

  Though in truth he’d already made up his mind. While he might hold contempt for Westix, and his whole blasted family, Lady Eleanor was the key to righting his great failure.

  * * *

  Nothing could ruin a lovely day in Hyde Park for Eleanor like unpleasant conversation. And truly there was no worse conversation than the general nagging of one’s mother.

  The Countess’s face was hidden by an ext
raordinarily large white bonnet. Not that Eleanor needed to see her mother’s face to know she was disappointed. The clipped tone of her voice provided all the evidence necessary.

  “Will you not go again tonight?”

  Eleanor wanted to cover her ears rather than endure her mother’s tedious inquiry once more. She slid a glance behind them to her maid, Amelia, who knew well of the arrangement. After all, it was she who had aided Eleanor in her disguise the two days prior.

  “The one lesson was enough, I assure you.”

  Eleanor kept to the left of the path to ensure her mother stayed in the shade. While the stroll did wonders for her mother’s digestion, the late-afternoon sun wreaked havoc on her headaches.

  The Countess made a sound of disagreement. Then she turned the expanse of her bonnet toward Eleanor and regarded her daughter with careful scrutiny. “Tell me again why it was so awful?”

  Eleanor waited for a woman in a butter-yellow dress to pass before answering. “It was...uncomfortable...and odd. She wanted me to pretend to be introduced to a man there several times.”

  Her mother’s face did not offer any conveyance of sympathy, or even shock that a man had been involved. Eleanor suppressed a sigh. She would have no support from her mother.

  “Then you are happy to resign yourself to the fate of being a spinster?” Her mother’s face had flushed a brilliant red. She snapped open her fan and waved it in front of her face to diffuse the onset of heat she’d been suffering from of late. “And you’re happy with being relegated to the position of poor relation once Leopold has what little remains of our fortune?”

  Eleanor had practiced the art of emotionless disinterest for so long it came naturally. Even still, at the mention of Leopold’s name she found herself having to concentrate to keep from letting her expression crumple in censure.

  “And what of love?” her mother asked.

  “Love.” Eleanor said the word as flatly as she felt the emotion was. She had never, after all, truly believed in it. “You’ve always said love is for fools and fiction.”